Things That I Miss

It's the human condition; we hate the way things are and we hate change. If we don't get what we want, we suffer. If we get exactly what we want, we still suffer - because it's only temporary. Several times this weekend, I was mentally traveling down memory lane (or amnesia lane, I can't remember which one), as I was engaged in a number of activities that involved things that were old as well as long gone. It ranged from taking photographs of a rusty '55 Chevy that was in need of serious saving to glancing at old pictures of service stations from the 60's.

Starting with the gas stations; Actually, most were called service stations because they actually performed "service" besides pumping the gas. All of them cleaned the windshield, but half still at least asked if you wanted the engine oil or tire air pressure checked. And this was well into the early 70's before the gas crunch. But a select few went above and beyond that. This scenario never happened with my Dad and I (because he drove a VW Beetle), but happened a great deal more went I was riding shotgun in my older cousin's 1968 GTO at the tender young age of eight. My cousin Bobby knew these hot rodders (read: street racers) who worked at a local Shell station near where we lived in Northern New Jersey. He would basically shoot the shit with them for about 15 minutes, and that gave me more than enough time to droll over the street machines that were parked there. Looking back, Bobby was a cool guy considering he had a dweeb of a passenger.

And while nothing really off-the-wall happened there, I know some other stations in and around metropolitan New York City did some pretty crazy promotions in order to get customers - especially from the late '50's through the late 60's. Take a gander at the service station pics in today's post. The black and white (above) is circa 1965-66 in San Antonio Texas. While I wouldn't be too crazy wearing those uniforms and straw hats (that guy checking the tire pressure seems absolutely thrilled), the driver of the '64 Chevy must have at least gotten a rising pulse with those two ladies in swimsuits. But let's not get too sexist here. The second pic is from circa 1969 at a Phillips 66 station in Alaska. How cool would it be to have a service station with a totem pole out front? There are times where I dream of winning the Powerball lottery, take some of those winnings, and open a vintage type service station. One that has a two-bay garage and a small store that actually sells some automotive products, unlike today where just about all gas stations barely sell a quart of oil and windshield washer fluid. And in my dream, I only work on old cars - like from 1976 and older.

Another thing I miss, but seems to be making a strong comeback, is psychedelic paint jobs on vintage drag cars. I'm a little fickle in this area. I really don't like this type of rolling art on regular muscle cars or street rods - just drag cars. Maybe it's because growing up in the '60's, this is where it was prominently visible, save for the occasional hippie VW bus. I'm digging the patterns, flames, lace, and other cues that seemed few and far between. Maybe it's because nostalgic drag racing is so popular these days. Or maybe it's a few hardcore painters are attempting to keep the flame going by tying the past with today's society. Whatever the reason, I'm all for it.

Taking that cue, I guess that's why I dig "Day #2 restorations" in regards to muscle cars. I still love the California rake, along with after-market wheels, and a vintage tach on the steering column. I still prefer an old-school 392 cubic inch Chrysler Hemi in a street rod compared to one with the mighty 426 version. And it's gotta multiple carbs. And if I'm really lucky, a pair of M&H Racemaster pie-crust slicks out back. Yeah, I know - I'm pathetic.

Until next time, peace out.
Dave